


Red and White

by AndelynKinsey



Category: Legend of Zelda, The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda origins
Genre: F/M, Not everything is canon and we don't know a lot, Origin Story, Rated M for later Chapters, Romance, Sexual Content, Slightly Alternative Universe, So I kind of made it up as I went, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-09 18:06:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12281745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndelynKinsey/pseuds/AndelynKinsey
Summary: A young Goddess, left behind by her elders and forced to watch as the land she loves suffers under a siege of darkness.  A courageous knight, torn down and betrayed by the very people he had sworn to defend.  Only together can they defeat the darkness threatening to consume them all.





	1. Chapter 1

Link knows she’s coming.  He can hear the murmur of voices greeting her as she walks through camp.  “ _Your Grace_ ,” they say.  “ _Goddess Hylia_.”  “ _Your Majesty_.”

“ _Link_ ,” she whispers, and he can hear her even though she’s still seven tents away from his.  It is said that Hylians have pointed ears so they can hear the voices of the Gods with ease.  Link knows this story, but he’d never given it much thought until she designated him her Hero and placed her sacred sword in his hands.  Now he’s attuned to her in the same way he would be a lover; he can hear not only her voice, but her thoughts as well.

Part of Link wonders if she made it that way on purpose.    

He’s down on one knee when she reaches his side.  “Your Grace,” he murmurs, head bowed and eyes on the ground.

“Sir Link,” she replies, sounding a little frustrated.  “You are injured.”

Link pauses, lifting his head to look at her.  “Your… Grace?”

“I can smell blood on you,” she continues, kneeling next to him.  “You have been injured again.”

At her urging, Link rises to his feet.  He looks himself over, examining his arms, chest, and legs.  He can see no visible injuries, which is surprising considering number of monsters that had been at the battle today.  Many had fallen into the trenches they dug, but once they figured out the trap they began vaulting over the pikes, desperately trying to reach the troops Hylia had gathered.  Even with this effort, the battle had not lasted long.  The humans were provisioned and fortified, aided by Hylia’s servants and the creatures who called this land home.  The demons had nothing behind them, not even their so-called King, for it had been at least a week since anyone had glimpsed him.

Link pulls off his red scarf, still looking for drops of blood on his clothing or any other sign of injury.  “Your Grace,” he murmurs after finishing his assessment.  “I am fine.  I did not-“

Hylia sighs, her lips pursed as she walks forward.  She quickly unlaces the neck of his tunic and Link thinks he should be used to this by now.  It shouldn’t be surprising that a Goddess, who hears the prayers of a thousand people each day, would have no sense of personal space. 

But each time she comes close and puts her warm hands against his skin, Link feels a thrill of surprise.  After four years of imprisonment, he is still not used to being touched.  His body is used to cold chains and damp cement; not gentle hands and warm, soft skin. 

She pulls open his tunic and gestures to a shallow incision on the right side of his chest.  It’s roughly the length of Link’s index finger and it must have bled a little, but not nearly enough for him to notice.  He eyes her curiously and she makes an exasperated face.  “You are injured.  _That_ is an injury,” she says, gesturing to the scratch.

He laughs once, amused, though clearly she is not.  “Your Grace, I am _fine_ ,” he says, trying to reassure her.  “This is nothing.  This-  it will heal in less than a week.”

“Why should it take that long when I can heal you,” she murmurs, placing two fingers against the scratch.  Link feels heat wash over his skin, golden light from her fingertips erasing any signs that he was ever marked by a sword. 

When she’s finished, her hand lingers.  Link feels her touch sink through muscle and bone into his heart, warming him from the inside out.  He tries to steady his shaky breathing as the Goddess pouts and looks up at him.  “I _told_ you to come to me whenever you are injured and I would heal you.”

“I’m… _sorry_?  I did not even know it was there,” he admits.

“Your skin was broken open and you lost blood.  You didn’t _feel_ that?” she asks incredulously.

Link gives her a wry smile.  “Your Grace, I am… accustomed to a certain level of pain,” he explains. “This is just a scratch; I have had much worse both on the field and off it.”

Hylia’s expression crinkles.  She presses her lips together and lets out a short sigh before taking hold of him by his biceps, her warmth sinking through the fabric of his shirt.  She’s _always_ warm, almost too warm; like standing in direct sunlight during midday.  She squeezes his arms gently. 

“I want you to find me _whenever_ you are wounded, Sir Link.  Be it minor cut or major injury.  Will you do this for me?” she asks.

Link smiles gently.  “Of course, your Grace.”

“Do you promise?”

“I swear it.”

She nods, mollified for now.  “The sword is serving you well?”

Link nods and pulls the shining blade from his back.  He holds it horizontally in front of her, letting her examine the blade’s shine and unbelievably sharp edge.  “It’s glorious,” he replies.  “Truly weapon fit for a Goddess.”

She smirks and Link’s heart flutters a little before dropping into his stomach.  “It’s a weapon fit for a _hero_ ,” she corrects.  “May I?”

“Certainly,” he says, allowing her to take the hilt.  She holds it in front of her, the tip pointed skyward.  Hylia swings the blade a slow circle then extends her arm sharply to the side.  The metal sings as the wind whips around the blade.

“The balance is impeccable,” she muses.  “The man who helped you forge this blade is a marvel.”

“He’s the best in all the land,” Link agrees, watching her swing the sword again before she twirls it and offers him the hilt.  He takes it and holds it slightly aloft, smiling as the blade shines back at him.

“The blade suits you, Sir Link,” she says happily.

Link grins and nods, noticing how the hilt feels warm in his hand.  “Thank you, your Grace.  It know it is temporary, though.  It is your-“

“The blade is no longer mine; it is bound to you now.  You are the hero of Hylia; my Chosen Hero,” she explains, grinning at him. 

Link doesn’t know what to say, for he doesn’t exactly know what she means by this. “Your Grace,” he ventures, sheathing the sword on his back.  She looks at him, eyes soft and expression welcoming.  “If I may... you know I love this land, and I will fight for it until my dying breath, but why you have given this sacred weapon to me?  Surely _you_ could wield this blade better than I against the coming evil.”

Hylia smiles a little sadly, turning her eyes from Link to the camp of soldiers behind them.  They are a motley mix of humans from all corners of the country, some seasoned warriors and others green as grass.  “You worry for them,” she says after a few moments.

“I do,” he admits.  “I worry about how I lead them. I worry about the lives we will lose… the lives we _have_ lost.”

“I do as well, Link,” she laments.  “It pains me.  My heart aches and I spend every night thinking of how I can quickly end this.  _My_ humans… There are other beings that are stronger and can the horrors this battle has brought, but the humans… the future of this world lies within them.  And you…”

She turns to him, her eyes like sapphires.  “ _You_ are their hope.  They offer me prayers and accept my blessings, but you _inspire_ them.  It is because of heroes like you that humans find hope in the darkest of times.  That is why you are chosen.  That is what makes you worthy to wield the blade.”

Link nods.  “Why is this evil so hard to fight?” he asks.  “You… you are a _Goddess_.  You are eternal and-“

Hylia lets out a dry laugh.  “When the Goddesses descended upon this land, what do you think they found?  Chaos, and disarray, and _evil_.  It was from that chaos that they carved the world, you know the stories…”

“I do,” he confirms. 

“They tamed that chaos; pushed it back to allow for the creation of this land, but they could not destroy it.  It is as eternal as we are. This is I was... left behind when the Goddesses returned to the Sacred Realm.  I was tasked with guarding the land and all the creatures within it.  It is my duty to protect the power that Din, Nayru, and Farore left when they departed.”

She hesitates and her expression falters.  Link dips his head to catch her gaze and she smiles ruefully at him.  “Would that I could simply vanquish the Demon King who seeks their power, but... he must be weakened before I am able to return him to the darkness,” she admits, her voice pained.

“Weakened how?”

“The Demon King is strong, just as strong as I am.  Our battles have…” she murmurs, trailing off before rallying herself.  “They have weakened us both.  That is why I disappear for days at a time… I must regain my strength through rest.”

“Does that leave you vulnerable?”

“Impa watches me while I rest, as is her duty,” Hylia explains.  “The Demon King and I have injured each other, but I have not yet been able to weaken and subdue him long enough to seal him away in the darkness.  I fear… I fear I may have to force him into another form, but… I’m not sure yet how to do that.”

Hylia looks at her hands and frowns.  Link follows her gaze, eyes roving over the smooth skin of her forearms and hands.  He swears he can see faint white lines against her skin in the firelight.  Link wonders what kind of weapon leaves scars on a Goddess. 

“Your Grace, I am a Knight of Hylia, _your_ Knight.  When he returns, _I_ will fight alongside you.  I will fight as long as needed, and we can send the Demon King back to the darkness.  Surely with this sacred blade,” he continues, gesturing to the sword on his back, “we can weaken him enough that you can seal him away.” 

Hylia smirks and looks at Link with her bright blue eyes.  “Perhaps you are right and I have been going about this the wrong way.  Maybe we should face this evil together when the time comes.  With your courage and resolve…” she praises, trailing off as she assesses him from head to foot. 

Link feels himself blushing. There’s something about her expression that makes his heart beat fast and his skin feel hot.  He gazes back at her, studying her face… the shape of her lips, the color of her eyes, the way her hair floats ethereally around her.  He can’t bear to look away for he knows when she leaves it will be days or weeks before he sees her again.

“But…until that time, you must recover from this battle and prepare for the next,” she continues after a moment.  She studies him, looking a little forlorn.

“I shall leave you to rest, Sir Link.”

Link nods and gives her a small bow.  “Your Grace,” he replies quietly.

Hylia begins to walk away then hesitates, her lips pressed together as she turns back to face him.  “You know I am fond of you, Link.”

Link freezes, his heart thudding in his chest.  “I… am fond of you as well, your Grace.”

“I say farewell to you each time we talk,” she thinks, stepping towards the entrance to his tent, back towards where he is standing.  “But it feels… insufficient.  I see other women bidding their own soldiers farewell.  I see them offering a… blessing of sorts.  It feels inadequate to simply say ‘ _good-bye_ ’ to my Chosen Hero,” she muses, walking so close to him that her toes rest against his boots.

Link tips his head, a little confused by what she’s describing.  “You see the women ‘ _blessing’_ their soldiers?”

“Perhaps I am using the wrong word,” she admits.  “It seems like a blessing, but it _looks_ as though it means more.  It’s more intimate.  I think they call it a kiss?  Is that the right word?”

Link freezes; his face feels hot and he reaches up to adjust his cap.  Hylia is staring at him, her eyes waiting for an answer.  “Well, yes… many of the women kiss their husbands or lovers when they say good-bye.”

“Is it a blessing?”

“I suppose it can be,” Link admits.

“But it’s also more,” she confirms, watching him nod.  “I will have to learn more about all the things it can mean later, but for now… I would like to bid you farewell with a kiss,” she says formally, standing up taller.  She tosses her hair and it floats around her shoulders; Link swears she is glowing.  “Will you kiss me, Hero?”

Link swallows.  His voice falters in his throat.  All he can do is nod in reply.

She smirks and reaches up, one hand sliding along his jaw.  Her skin is warm and she smells sweet. Hylia coaxes him into a bow, first pressing her lips to his forehead, leaving a warm spot against his skin.  Link holds his breath.  She smiles, leans closer, breathing warmly against his mouth.  “I’m _waiting_ ,” she whispers.

Link leans in and kisses her.

He lingers for a moment, lips molding against hers.  Her mouth is almost too hot, but Link presses into the kiss, craving more.  She makes a pleased sound, her hand sliding from his jaw into his hair.  He finds her cheek and touches it gently, fingertips tracing a path from her ear to her chin…

Link pulls away, afraid of what his body might do if he stays any longer.  He presses his lips together to try and save the warmth still lingering on them.  Hylia _giggles_ and looks up at him. 

“That is _more_ than a blessing. I am certain of it.  I suppose it will do for now,” she muses.  “Good-bye, Sir Link.  I should like to do this again the next time we see each other.”

Link finally releases his breath.  He nods and a half-smile finds his lips.  “Your Grace.”

She smirks and pushes his chest playfully.  “I’ve asked you to call me _Hylia_ , Link,” she says, turning over her shoulder.  “I will not ask again.”

Link watches her walk away, her long blonde hair swaying as she fades into the darkness. He lets out a short laugh and touches his lips, his blood hot and pulse racing.  He moves back into his tent and tries to turn his thoughts back to battle plans and instead of thinking about how soft the Goddess’ lips were against his own.

_________________________________________________________________

It’s four days later and they are camped near Lake Floria, having just scored another victory against the demon horde.  After learning where they had stationed themselves, his soldiers managed to destroy most of their camp thanks to help from the Mogwai.  They dug tunnels and arranged their special crop of bomb flowers underneath the enemy’s tents.  Once the flowers detonated, the demons were left in disarray and Hylia’s soldiers were able to charge in and kill many of them.  Those they couldn’t were on the run now, searching for their absent King. 

Hylia had returned to camp early the next morning.  Since her return, she had been visiting the soldiers and people in the villages, blessing them and healing those who had been wounded fighting for her land. 

Link is in his tent polishing the sword when he hears her, ears and, strangely, his lips, tingling at the sound of her voice.

_Am I the first person he has kissed since he left prison?  That would make sense, I suppose.  Surely, he has kissed others before that…  Why does that make me feel envy?  I need to go see him.  Seeing his face would make me feel at ease.  I shall find him this evening._

Link doesn’t wait for her to find him. He removes his armor, leaving only the chain-mail under his green tunic.  His heart pounds and a thrill of anticipation races through him when he thinks about seeing her again. 

“Sir _Link_!” she cheers when he finally finds her in the clearing just beyond their camp.  She’s sitting on the ground in her white dress, surrounded by bunches of flowers and tiny fairies.  “I am happy to see you; you were just in my thoughts.”

Link knows he’s blushing but tries to appear confident.  He straightens his cap and tunic as he approaches her. 

“The fae have been telling me how the demons fled under your most recent attack.  It appears they are all in hiding for the time being.”  Her eyes are full of pride as she smirks up at him.

Link nods.  “I’m sure they are gathering their strength, but the respite is nice.”

“It is,” she agrees, still grinning.  “I am glad you found me.  I have a gift for you,” she continues, beckoning him to sit next to her.  He lowers himself to the grass, folding his legs and watching her untie a white cloth from her shoulders. 

Link takes the cloth when she hands it to him, examining it closely.  It’s ivory white but the edges are stitched with gold patterning.  She’s embroidered a red bird into the center of the cloth, and above it a golden triangle composed of three smaller triangles. Link smiles, kneading the cloth in his fingers; it’s sturdy but soft and smells like her hair.

“That is a sailcloth, my personal one,” she explains.  “Someday, when you ride the crimson loftwing, you will need this.  He doesn’t like to land unless he must, so it’s easier to leap from his back and float to the ground.  That’s where this comes in.  It will slow your descent and allow you to land without injury.  It will also capture the wind from an updraft, allowing you to get to higher ground with ease.”

Link freezes and shakes his head. He cannot accept such a priceless gift, especially when she would have more need of it than him.  “ _You_ need this, Your Gr-“

“ _Link_ ,” she says, narrowing her eyes.

“Apologies,” he murmurs, clearing his throat.  “ _You_ need this, Hylia.  Your loftwing has not accepted me as a rider, and you will-“

“He can be capricious, but he will accept you eventually, and then you will have his loyalty forever.  Do  not worry for me.  It is not necessary for me to have it; I can control my own descent in other ways.  I thought… in addition to kisses, I see soldiers accepting gifts from their loved ones: jewelry, pieces of cloth, a trinket or tokens…”

“Oh, we call those favors,” Link explains.

“Yes, favors.  I would give this to you as my favor.  I hope it can serve you well,” she smiles, her eyes bright as she gazes at him.

Link grins back and folds the cloth neatly in his lap.  “Thank you.  I do not deserve it.”

“You _do_ deserve it.”

Link nods.  “I will keep it with me always.”

Hylia smiles at this, her cheeks a little pink.  She takes a breath and then reaches into her lap.  “Look what a child from the village taught me to make,” she grins, holding up an elaborate crown of flowers.  “She said I looked like a Princess and showed me how to make a crown.  I should like to be a Princess someday.”

Link laughs.  “It would suit you, your Grace.”

She sighs, exasperated.  “Link, what have I asked you-“

“It would suit you, _Hylia_ ,” he amends with an apologetic smile.  “Forgive me.  It feels… disrespectful to address you so directly.”

“You could never be disrespectful, Sir Link,” she smirks.  “You are far to gentle and noble in spirit.”

She fluffs the flowers in the crown and examines it with a careful eye.  “I thought of you when I was making it.  The colors suit you,” she adds, gesturing to the red and white flowers. 

Link feels himself blush.  “Perhaps.”

“Will you wear it for me?” she asks, holding it out for him.  Link grins boyishly and nods.  Hylia reaches up to remove his cap, running her fingers through his hair a few times.  She sets the crown on his head and admires her work.  Link drops his shoulders, lifts his chest slightly, and poses.  She laughs and it sounds like bells.

“Yes, I like that.  Red flowers suit you well, Sir Link; the fae agree with me,” she finishes, gesturing to the number of fairies that are now flittering quietly around him. 

Link smiles and adjusts the crown.  “But what will you wear?”

“I have a crown of sorts already,” she muses, adjusting the string of jewels in her hair.  “Though I have seen women with flowers braided into their hair.  I like that, it's very pretty.”

Link considers this and slides closer to her.  He picks up some of the red flowers and places them in his lap.  “May I?” he asks, reaching for her hair.

To his surprise, Hylia freezes.  Her cheeks flood with color and she looks… _shy_.  She tucks a lock of hair behind her long ear and smiles at him, looking a little confused by her own reaction, but pleased nonetheless.  “Yes, of course,” she murmurs, allowing him to take her hair between his fingers.

Link picks up a flower, puts it between his teeth, and begins to comb through her hair with his fingers.  It’s been a while since he braided his own hair back, choosing instead to hide it under a cap, but he remembers the technique.  _It will be easier since her hair is longer_ , he thinks.

He’s divided her golden hair into three sections and has begun crossing them over one another when she speaks again.

“What is this… feeling?” she asks quietly.

Link freezes for a moment then continues braiding.  He adds another flower and wraps her hair around the stem.  “What feeling?”

“ _This_ feeling.  What’s happening right now,” she presses.   “I am not… accustomed to all human emotions; I know them, and yet I don’t.  Joy, peace, sadness, fear, and anger… I’ve felt all those myself.  This is… different.”

“It’s not joy?” he asks, knowing that he feels that whenever she is near.

“No… it is.  I am happy when I am with you, but I am also happy when I talk to those in the village, or visit the creatures in Eldin and Lanayru.  I am happy when I speak with the three dragons, the Shiekah, and the fae.  This, what I feel now… this is more than _happy_ ,” she murmurs, sounding a little confused.

Link swallows.  “It is more than happy for me as well,” he replies as he finishes one braid and begins another.

“You feel it too, then?” she confirms, relief in her voice.

“Yes,” Link admits.

“What do you feel?  What would you call it?”

Link doesn’t say anything.  He continues braiding, looping strands of hair with flowers as he goes.  He can’t think of anything good to say.  All he can think about is how beautiful she is, how soft her hair feels in his calloused hands, how sweet she smells. 

He knows what he feels.  He knew what it was the moment their lips met.  He’s known it for a few weeks now.  He recognized it because he’d felt it before, when he was a younger, different man.  Before he was battle hardened and tarnished by his time in prison, a girl had loved him and he’d loved her back.  But she was gone now, and Link had spent so many years alone that he’d almost forgotten how it felt.

“You have an excessive amount of thoughts for someone who says so little,” Hylia murmurs after a few moments.

Link pauses, taking the two braids and wrapping them around the crown of her head.  “Can you… _hear_ my thoughts?” he asks a little warily.

“I can’t hear specific words, but… I can _feel_ you thinking,” she explains.  “Your hands are shaking, as is your breathing.”

Link chews his lip, trying to steady his hands and slow the pace of his breaths.  He loops her hair to hold the braids in place and tucks a flower behind her ear.  Hylia sits up taller and smirks.  “How do I look?”

Link smiles.  “Beautiful.”  _As if you could look anything less_ , he thinks to himself.

“May I dine with you tonight?” she asks, tilting her head to the side.  “The soldiers tell me you take your meals alone most evenings.  Sometimes you eat with Impa, but I know she’s not set to return for another few days.  May I eat with you so you are not alone?”

“Yes,” Link replies a little too quickly.  _Stop shaking_ , he tells himself.  “Yes, I would like that.”

Hylia grins and nods her head.  “Good, I will find you at your tent this evening,” she says, getting to her feet and dusting off her dress.  The fairies swarm around her and Link can’t help but think she looks a little like one herself with the flowers in her hair.  She watches him as he rises, a curious smile on her face. 

“May I kiss you again?” she asks.

Link swallows and nods.  “If you wish to.”

“I _do_ ,” she says, and Link feels himself grinning like an idiot. 

Her fingers slide along his cheekbones and she pulls his mouth against hers.  She stays longer this time, her body inching closer to his; the warmth of it melts into his tunic.  Link audibly sighs into the kiss, his hands cupping her face and she giggles before pulling away, her voice light and musical.

She licks her lips.  “Am I the only person you’ve kissed since you’ve been a free man?”

Link nods, feeling his cheeks grow hot under her thumbs.  “Yes,” he admits.  “I… never thought about it until you asked, to be honest.  I’m still not comfortable being touched.”

“You seem comfortable enough now,” she says, pointedly stroking her thumb along his cheekbone.

“It’s you,” is all he can reply.

She pauses at this, a strange look in her eyes.  She withdraws her hands.  They ball into loose fists at her sides, as though she’s trying to restrain herself.  She presses her lips together before taking a slow breath.  “Tonight, then.”

“Tonight,” he repeats.

“I shall see you this evening, Sir Link,” she says formally.  It sounds like a dismissal. 

Link bows and turns to walk down the hill, curious about her sudden change in demeanor.  He wonders if he said something wrong; perhaps something to make her think about the complexity of their situation.  It was rather complex when he thought about, which is why he tried _not_ to think about it.

Instead, he thought about what he should make a Goddess for supper.


	2. Chapter 2

Link is adding measured amounts of wheat and milk to a simmering pot of pumpkin soup when a pair of red eyes peer at him from the edge of his tent.

“I had to see it myself,” says Impa, her voice low and amused.

“My  _friend_!” Link exclaims, jumping up from his stool and embracing her in a hug.  He feels her freeze when he throws his arms around her shoulders and remembers he’s not normally so… exuberant.  

“ _Well_ ,” she laughs, returning the embrace and patting him hard on the shoulder.  “It is good to see you too, Link.”

Link pulls back and flinches a little, embarrassed.  “Sorry,” he mutters, clearing his throat.

“Don’t be,” she scoffs, smiling.  “It… suits you somehow.  I was walking past camp and ran into Rolor.  He told me you walked by him wearing a crown of flowers and I had to come see this for myself,” she explains, gesturing to the red and white wreath still on his head.  

“Oh, right,” Link mumbles, touching it, but not taking it off.  “It was a… gift.”

Impa snickers. “Sir Link the Valiant… with your red cape and crown of flowers.  Rolor told me he’s going to start calling you the Red Knight of Hylia. I said he should call you the Knight of Lilies.”

Link scoffs and rolls his eyes.  “They can call me whatever they like so long as it helps them keep their courage in the field.”

“Well, it sounds like they have,” she notes, accepting the glass of mead that he offers her.  “Thank you.  A full two weeks and no one has seen a glimpse of the Demon King; our troops have the hordes of demons on the run…  I say their courage is strong, thanks to you of course.”

Link nods and purses his lips.  He takes a long drink before speaking again.  “Are you well?  Have you had a long journey?”

“Not long, but I am tired. I will camp here for the night and return to my village in the morning,” she explains, looking at the soup Link is stirring.  “You are making dinner and wearing flowers,” she teases.  “I trust you are well?”

“I am… good,” Link says inadequately.  “We will be back at the fortress outside our village tomorrow, which is good for the men. It will be easier to defend ourselves there.  Everyone is anxious to see their own beds.”

“Will you be happy to return to the fortress and a bed?”

Link hesitates, then shrugs and takes another drink.  “I will. The fortress isn’t necessarily…  _pleasant_  for me, but a real bed will be nice.”

Impa gives him a small smile.  “When this is over, I imagine you settling down in a little cottage.  Somewhere in the wild you are free to come and go as you please.”

“I would like that,” Link agrees.  “The woods feel more like home than any castle ever could.”

“I can understand why,” Impa replies, noting his dark expression.  She changes the subject.  “I didn’t come by just to tease you about your accessories, I also wanted to ask if you’ve spoken to Her Grace recently.”

Link smiles and clears his throat, gesturing towards the entrance of his tent, where he knows Hylia will appear any second.  He’s been able to hear her for a few minutes, like a distant echo in his head.  

_He didn’t answer my question.  Should I ask again, or is that annoying?  I know he feels **something** … I wonder if he still likes wine.  The merchant said this was the best one he had and it used to be Link’s favorite…  It smells delicious.  Why is his tent open?  Oh!_

“ _Impa_!” Hylia exclaims as she comes through the tent flap.  

Impa inhales sharply, surprised by Hylia’s appearance.  She moves to kneel before her Goddess, but Hylia takes her by the shoulders, pulls her to her feet, and embraces her.

“You’re back!  I have  _missed_  you!” Hylia gushes.  “How was your journey?  Are you well?”

“I am, your Grace,” Impa says, a curious laugh in her voice as she touches one of the flowers in Hylia’s hair.  “I see you  _also_  have new accessories,” she observes before looking sidelong at Link.

“I do.  Do you like them?  I’d never thought to do this until after the spring festival.  All the women braided flowers into their hair and I thought ‘how beautiful!’  Link did it for me,” she beams.

Impa presses her lips together and nods slowly, her eyes flicking to Link again.  “They match his crown.”

“Oh!” Hylia laughs, releasing Impa and moving closer to Link.  “You’re still wearing it!”

Link nods, blood hot in his cheeks. Hylia takes his face in her hands, assessing him.  “Yes, I made that for him.  It brings out his eyes, don’t you think?” she asks, looking to Impa, who looks bewildered that she’s being asked for an opinion on Link’s eyes.

“Enough about that,” Hylia continues, stroking Link’s face with her thumbs before releasing him.  “How is the keep?  I hope the task wasn’t too daunting.”

Impa shakes her head, looking from Hylia to Link then back again.  Hylia scrunches her nose and laughs a little.  “You needn’t be so  _secretive,_ Impa.  He is my Chosen Hero, I trust him.”  She leans very close and drops her voice to a whisper.  “I  _kissed_  him,” she smirks.

Impa blinks a few times, but keeps her expression passive.  “Did you…” she replies, slowly turning her head and arching her eyebrows at Link. He begins fiddling with fruit, moving it from a plate to a bowl.  Then he moves to stir the soup again, pretending he can’t feel Impa’s eyes following him.

“Yes, I did,” Hylia laughs. “I rather enjoyed it. I believe Sir Link did as well,” she adds as she looks around his tent.  “It’s dark enough now that we can use some light, I think.”

Hylia crosses over to an oil lamp that Link has hanging across from his cot.  Impa watches her while stepping over to the pot of soup, bending low and assessing Link’s stirring technique.  

“You  _kissed_  her?” she accuses in a whisper.

“She…  _asked_  me to!” he bleats under his breath.  

“Oh, and you didn’t  _want_  to?”

“Obviously I  _wanted_  to.  I’ve wanted to since-“

“Whatever you’re making smells  _amazing_ , Link,” Hylia interrupts, joining them at the cooking pot.

Link looks pleased but Impa narrows her eyes at him.  “Don’t let that go to your head, Hero… she says that about  _everything_.”

“True,” Hylia admits. “But it really  _does_  smell delicious.   _Oh_! And you found strawberries. They’re my absolute favorite.  I don’t see why they haven’t planted them all over the countryside.”

“They’re finnicky,” Impa explains.  “They require specific types of soil and a certain amount of sunlight.  It takes a few years for the bushes to really blossom.”

“I see,” she says, taking a berry from the plate and popping it in her mouth.  “I should have a word with Farore and Din about how we can rectify that.  Do you only have the one lamp, Sir Link?” Hylia asks, watching as he nods.  “It’s so dark in here…”

She presses her hands together and little sparks of light fly from her fingertips.  They arrange themselves artfully around the tent, giving it a warmer glow.  “Perhaps I’ll eat with you every night, that way you aren’t eating alone  _and_  in the dark,” she muses, winking in Link’s direction.  

“I would like that,” Link says, smiling.  Impa  _looks_  at him and he frowns.  It’s not exactly scolding, but it certainly isn’t approving either.

Hylia grins, oblivious that one of her companions is glowering a the other.  She turns from her delicate arrangement of lights back to Link and presents him a bottle of golden wine.  “I see you have a bottle of ale, but… I brought you this,” she murmurs quietly.

Link smiles, a little surprised by the mark on the bottle.  “This is Gruner’s wine.”

“You  _do_  like wine,” she says happily.  “He said you used to like it before.  This one in particular was your favorite.”

“-My favorite,” Link breathes, overlapping her words.  “It was. Thank you, Hylia.”

She beams and hands him the bottle before flitting over to his cot.  Impa continues to look at him, mouths “ _Hylia_?” and shakes her head.  Link shrugs and she rolls her eyes.

“Do you know what you’re getting into?” she asks quietly out of the side of her mouth.

“I can’t help it,” he whispers, watching as Hylia rearranges the pile of blankets and pillows on his cot. “She...looks at me and I just can’t help it.”

Impa rolls her eyes, but when Hylia returns to their side she drops the subject and adopts a passive expression.  Link shrugs at her apologetically, which makes her laugh a little and mutter, “ _Reckless,_ ” under her breath.

* * *

 

“Tell me another story,” Hylia requests, handing Link the bottle of wine.  It’s warm around the fire pit he has in his tent.  He knows the men in camp have all gone to bed but he and Impa are still awake and Hylia is asking them to tell her stories. She’s got the bowl of strawberries in her lap and they are drinking straight from the bottle of wine she brought.

“You know Machin, right?” he asks.

“The healer,” Hylia confirms.

Link nods, taking a drink from the bottle.  “The other night, he got up to fill his canteen and I heard him by the fountain. He said, “ _What are you doing out here_?” but no one responded.  He kept talking but no one ever talked back so I finally got up to see what was going on,” Link explains, starting to laugh. “I asked who he was talking to, and he looks at me and says, ‘ _I’m talking to you_!’  He’d been talking to his own shadow thinking it was me.”

Impa dissolves into loud laughter.  Hylia grins, looking as though she’s laughing more at Impa than at Link’s story.  

“Was he embarrassed?” Impa asks.

“Confused, I think,” Link shrugs, handing her the bottle.  “He’s confused a lot… which is not a good quality for a healer,” he admits with a laugh.

“No, it’s not,” Hylia snickers.  “But he’s good at what he does.  He’s patched you up a time or two, hasn’t he?”

Link nods.  “He has a knack for it, but he’s anxious to get home. His wife is due to have a baby any day now.”

“ _Oh_ ” Hylia gasps, clapping her hands together.  “That’s  _wonderful_.  Is he excited?  Everyone gets so  _excited_  when there’s a baby born and it just makes my heart burst.”

Link smiles at her enthusiasm, as does Impa.  “Yes, he’s excited.”

“I am always glad when a baby is born,” she muses.  “That’s what needs to happen.  You should prosper and have children, for that is what will  _truly_  defeat the evil.  We can push it back and seal it away, but the continuation of life through children… the  _will_  to go on… that’s what wins wars.”

“And that’s what we’re fighting to protect,” Link agrees.

Hylia inhales and looks at him, her eyes bright and blazing with something that makes him blush. Link looks away, his face hot as he hands the bottle to Impa.  She’s watching Hylia stare at him, her eyes wary. She takes the wine from Link and drinks deeply.

“ _You_  should have a baby, Impa,” Hylia says, sounding delighted.

Link chokes back a laugh and Impa spits out the wine she just drank in a fantastic spray.  Hylia looks alarmed.  “What?  What have I said?”

“Your…  _Grace_ ,” Impa sputters, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.  Link continues to choke back laughter and she shoots him a look.  “I do not think-“

“You  _should_  have a child.  Can you imagine how glorious it would be?  The Shiekah so rarely have children and it’s a shame.  You should be just as fruitful-“

“Your Grace,” Impa interrupts.  “We are sworn to you as servants.  We are human, yes, but since the three Goddesses departed this world we have served you and will continue to do so in perpetuity.”

Hylia purses her lips. “How can you do that if no one has any children?”

“There are others in my tribe who are more suited to parenthood than I am,” Impa replies gently. “Besides… there are times I feel as though I already  _have_  a child.”

Hylia gives her a slightly scolding look, then smirks.  “If that is the case, then I am qualified to give the opinion that you would make a good mother,” she says pointedly.  Impa shakes her head, but Link notices the ghost of a smile on her face.

“All joking aside, you are by  _far_  my most devoted servant,” Hylia sighs, placing her hand on Impa’s arm. “Your faith in me means more than you know.  I appreciate all you do for me… even if I act like a child sometimes.”

“Thank you, your Grace,” Impa replies.  She sighs then and takes another drink before handing the bottle back to Hylia.

“Will you return to your village tonight?” Hylia asks.

“No,” she says.  “I am camping here tonight and will return to the village on the morrow.” “

“You wouldn’t need to leave terribly early for that.  It’s not a long journey…” Hylia presses, offering her the wine back.

Impa laughs and shakes her head.  “I shouldn’t have any more wine… neither should  _you_  to be honest,” she says pointedly to Link.  “I fear if I drink anymore I will sleep  _much_  too late and will not make it to my village until late evening.”

“Would that be so bad?” Hylia questions, handing the bottle to Link.  

Impa smiles.  “The earlier I start in the day, the sooner I can be back by your side, your Grace.”

Hylia sighs and looks down. “I… may be traveling tomorrow, so you needn’t rush.”

Link takes a drink from the wine, corks it, then sets it on the table.  “Where are you going?” he asks conversationally, as though the answer is of no real concern to him.  Impa narrows her eyes but he ignores her.

“There is something I must do,” she says simply.  “The last time I fought Demise, I managed to injure him badly.  He’s hidden himself well, but he will soon be recovered and I fear his…  _anger…_  will be greater than before. So, before that happens, I  _must_  safeguard the essences of the Goddesses.”

“I will come with you,” Link offers, leaning forward to catch her gaze.  He’s not exactly sure what good he would be to her, since she is a  _Goddess_ … but she chose him as her hero for a reason.  He should be with her as often as he can.

Hylia’s cheeks flush. She smiles for a moment, then looks down at her feet, her teeth against her lip.  She glances at Impa, who’s face is passively stern.  Hylia nods, as though she’s trying to remind herself of something.  

“You are needed  _here_ , Sir Link,” she murmurs formally.  “Your soldiers depend on you; they need your courage.”

“They are courageous on their own. I think they could spare me for one day,” he counters, encouraged by the wine in his blood.  “We are close enough to the fortress that if anything were to happen they could fall back to the keep.  You should not go alone.  Impa told me you  _too_  were injured the last time you battled with the Demon,” Link points out.

Impa shoots  _him_  a look, but quells a little when Hylia glares at her.  Link doesn’t back down.  “If it is not something suited to my skills, you should at least take her.”

Hylia considers this, still looking at Impa.  “I will do whatever you ask of me, your Grace,” she murmurs.  “But… Perhaps Link is right.”

Hylia sighs, her lips pressed together in a hard line.  She shakes her head.  “This is not a task either of you can assist with,” she explains.  “This is  _my_  burden.  It is because of me that we are facing this horror, and therefore it is a task I must bear alone.”

Hylia finishes and frowns. She fidgets with the material of her dress and whispers a prayer in a language that neither Link nor Impa understand. He looks to Impa, who shakes her head at him.  Link purses his lips and scuffs at the dirt floor with his boot, watching the dust kick up in small puffs.

Her fingers are warm when she touches his cheek, lifting his eyes to hers.  “You must not worry, sweet Hero” she says, her expression soft. “I know you fear for me, but I have strength for this task.  I will return to you soon enough.”

Link nods and smiles a little before staring at his feet again.  Hylia releases his cheek, though she continues to gaze at him, making the back of his neck feel warm and his heart beat fast.  The lights she cast into his tent flicker gently.

When the silence stretches too long Link looks up.  Hylia and Impa are staring at each other, holding a conversation in nothing but facial expression.  

Hylia crinkles her nose apologetically.  Impa smiles, breathes out a laugh, then shakes her head and shrugs.  Hylia looks at Link then back to Impa, raising her eyebrows.  She presses her lips together.  Impa nods, looking passive and accepting.  Hylia tilts her head towards the entrance of the tent, her cheeks turning pink in the firelight.  Impa takes a breath, wearing a look of concern that Hylia shakes her head at. Impa nods and rises to her feet.

“I will leave you to speak with Sir Link, your Grace.”

Impa turns to Link, a strange expression in her eyes.  He stands, following her to the entrance of his tent, tipping his head when she gives him the same worried expression she gave Hylia.  He opens his mouth to say something, but Impa shakes her head and places a hand on his shoulder.  

“I will see you on the morrow,” she tells him quietly.

Link nods.  “Good night, my friend,” he replies, bracing his hand against her shoulder.  Impa gives him a half smile, bows to Hylia, then exits the tent, closing the curtain behind her.

“You never answered my question,” Hylia says after Impa’s footsteps fade away.  Link turns to look at her.  Her braided crown has come apart, but flowers still linger in a few strands of hair.  She’s toying with the red and white lily Link put behind her ear earlier in the day.  

“Which question?” he asks, walking back to the fire.  

She stands slowly, her ivory dress sparkling in the dim light.  It hugs her waist, flowing out over her hips, skimming the floor though it never gathers any dirt.  The small chain she wears atop her head sparkles as she moves close to him and Link swears she’s glowing...

“What do you feel, Link?” she asks, taking his hands.

He’s had too much wine and freezes, voice stuck at the back of his throat.  He’s distracted by the shape of her mouth and the way her dress hugs her hips.  Hylia releases his hands and places hers against his chest.  His pulse starts to race.  Link’s hands find her waist, palms hesitating at the small of her back.  She’s  _hot_ , like standing too close to a fire.  Her finger tips are on his collarbones and her breath is against his ear when she speaks again.  

“Link, I asked you what you feel, and you are being quiet,” she whispers with a laugh.  Her expression is…  _wanting_.  His breath hitches and she leans forward.

“If you can’t tell me,” Hylia says quietly, “will you  _show_  me?”

The wine in his blood gives him a nudge.  Link slides one hand into her hair, cradling her head as they lean in at the same time. Their lips connect and this time he doesn’t linger, he  _stays_.

He opens his mouth and she mimics him, tilting her head to the side.  He pulls her closer, fingers splayed out against her lower back.  She disturbs his crown of flowers when she threads her fingers into his hair.  Link moans a little, kissing her deeply, tongue soft against hers.  She tastes like the strawberries she’s been eating all night.

Hylia arches, pushing her body into his.  The kiss becomes a little more ardent, a little more feverish… She moans quietly and Link holds on for a moment longer, fingers tangled in her hair, then he pulls back, reeling from the adrenaline rush.  He rests his forehead against hers and Hylia closes her eyes. Link’s voice doesn’t come until she opens them.

“I am in love with you. I love you,” he breathes, the words spilling out like a confession in a temple.

Hylia watches him, her eyes curious.  “Is  _that_  what this is…  It’s love, then?”

“It is for me,” he whispers, hands moving back to her waist.

She lets out a little laugh, draping her arms around his neck.  “This is not the love I know.  This is…  _more_.  I love my humans and the animals of this world.  I love the plants, and the trees, and the rivers, and land.  This is not the same… no, not the same  _at all_ ,” she muses.  

Hylia considers him, pulling back, her hands against his shoulders.  She looks him up and down then frowns.  “You’re afraid,” she says.  Link moves to shake his head but she stops him.  “I can  _feel_  it, Link… you’re  _never_  afraid- why are you afraid?”

_I fear you’ll vanish and leave me alone again,_  he thinks. He can’t say that.  “Being apart from you is… difficult,” he says lamely.

She looks at him, conflicted, then releases his shoulders and begins to pace.  “I understand… I feel the same,” she says, fingers pressed together at her lips as she walks the length of his tent.  She’s speaking very fast now, almost as though she’s talking to herself.  

“I feel so much  _joy_  with you.  You give me…  _strength_ ,” she admits, sounding surprised.  “I feel stronger thanks to your courage.  And you… make me feel…” she trails off, placing her hands against her lower belly.  She looks at him, cheeks flushed, then continues to pace.  

“You are my  _Knight_ , Link… but…” She puts her hand over her chest, over where her heart lies.  She stops pacing then and becomes very still before looking at him. “Are you afraid  _of_  me?”

“Well,” Link begins, “I’m not…  _afraid_  of you, but you are a Goddess,” he says, pointing out the obvious.  “You are a Goddess, and a I am…” he gestures vaguely to himself.  She shrugs, either not understanding or trying to diminish his concern.  Link exhales sharply.  “I am  _mortal_.  I am… insignificant and-“

She walks to him, taking his face in her hands and pulling her mouth to his.  She kisses him painfully hard for a moment then pulls back. “You are  _not_  insignificant to me.”  

Link inhales slowly and nods, looping his arms around her waist.  She warms a path over his cheekbones with her thumbs and kisses his nose, then his chin, then his neck.  His hands slide over the small of her back, feeling her curves.  She arches, smiling and leaning into him, breathing against his neck.  Link holds on for a moment then pulls back, grimacing and red in the face.  

“You must forgive me,” he apologizes, his face hot.  “I fear … I have had too much wine... I should not touch you-”

Hylia takes Link’s hands and places them back at her hips. Her fingers move over his ears and down his jaw, sliding lower until they find the V of his tunic.  She touches a scar just below his collarbone.  

“I do not mind,” she whispers.  “Your hands feel good.  I like the way you touch me.  I… liked the way you kissed me just now.”

Link smiles, feeling a little smug for some reason.  He dips his head, nuzzling her cheek before moving his mouth close to hers.  “May I kiss you again?”

She smiles and closes her eyes.  “You may, Sir Link.”

Link kisses her, soft and slow, her body curving into his hands.  She sighs, stretching up on her toes and tangling her fingers into his hair.

“You may kiss me like this as often as you like,” she whispers when he pulls away for a moment. When their mouths find each other again, she moans and pulls him down on to his cot, her arms around his neck.  He whimpers a little, and her leg curls around his.  Her nose is against his cheek and her breath warm in his ear when she laughs.

“I like the sounds you make.”

Link moans a little, closes his eyes, and loses track of things after that…

* * *

 

Impa has him up the following morning just after sunrise.

“ _Up_!” she shouts, walking into his tent unannounced.  She’s wearing sparring gear: guards on her arms and a blue top he knows is made of special Shiekah armor: feather light and impenetrable.  “Get up,” she demands, kicking his cot.  “How many days has it been since you’ve swung a sword?  You’ll lose your speed if you get too lazy.”

Link grimaces and pushes his hair from his face.  His tunic is off; it’s on the floor by his cot.  He stares at it, vaguely remembering that he removed it before he fell into bed after Hylia left.  He’s not sure where is chainmail is, which feels odd.

Impa tosses it to him. “She blessed it,” she murmurs. “Apparently it was too  _weak_  for her liking.”

Link knows his cheeks are red but he tries to ignore this.  He puts on the chainmail and tunic, tugs on boots, straps on bracers, and puts on worn leather gloves barely in time to catch the sword Impa throws at him.  It’s not a sparring sword; it’s the one Hylia gifted him.  He eyes her warily before following her out of the tent.

Link remembers the first time he sparred with Impa.  It had been just after Hylia introduced him to the Shiekah tribe.  She had beamed and proclaimed him the most honorable hero in the land.  Impa had watched and been less than impressed.  After Hylia left, Impa leaned against her ornate Bo staff and stared at him.

“Care to show me your skill, Sir?” she had asked when he turned to walk away.

“Pardon?”

“Spar with me,” she challenged, twirling the Bo with a smirk.  “Show me what you can do with the sword our Goddess has gifted to you.  Come on…I’ll go easy on you.”

Link had not liked the tone of her voice, nor her offer to go easy on him.  He squared his shoulders and readied himself.  

Impa lunged forward with cat-like dexterity and surprising speed. Link turned, but she made it under his guard and cracked him on the shoulder with the Bo much harder than a normal sparring partner would.  Link winced picked up his shield before turning back to her.

“A  _shield_?” She scoffed. “Afraid I’m going mess up that pretty cape you wear?”

Link scowled and threw the shield to the side.  He twirled his blade. She lunged again but he was ready for it this time.  He blocked her thrust and the attempted remise, but she caught his counterstrike and parried his sword to the side.  She body checked him and then swatted him hard in the ribs when he turned to strike her.  

“Demons don’t use sparring rules, Hero,” she told him.  “You’d do well to forget some of them.”

Link inhaled and twirled the sword again.  On her next lunge, he let her into his guard and grabbed the Bo staff in his fist.  It threw her off balance and he twirled, whipping her around. She held on tight and he lunged, swatting her in the ribs with the flat end of his blade.  She pulled away, he twisted the Bo and she stumbled.  Link put a foot her hip and pushed, sending her tumbling to the ground. He tossed the Bo aside.

When she looked up at him, Link expected her to be irritated.  Instead, she had been almost amused.  

“Better,” she praised, jumping lithely to her feet.  “Now let me get a sword,” she’d added, rubbing her ribs.

After that, she had considered him a friend and sparred with him often, ribbing him often, and constantly challenging him.  Impa had made him a better fighter; quicker on his feet, stronger in his swing.  Though Link was secretly glad that Hylia never watched them spar. He had a feeling she would not approve.

She definitely would not approve now.  

As soon as they are away from camp, Impa draws her blade and swings horizontally at him.  Link jumps back to avoid the swing and draws his sword. She’s in his guard right away, swinging and lunging, pushing him towards the edge of the forest.  There’s something uncontrolled about how she’s fighting; her swings are fierce and blows just on the edge of anger.

She keeps pushing him back and Link lets her for the most part because perhaps he deserves it. When she starts to tire, he dodges her thrust and puts the pommel of his sword into her ribs, pushing her back into the field.  “What is wrong?” he asks, panting.

“You kissed a God, Link,” she growls.  “You  _kissed_.  _A_.  _God_.  How are you even alive?  How did you not…  _burn up_  on the spot?”

Link hesitates.  He hadn’t considered the danger.  It was hard to consider Hylia, with flowers in her hair and a laugh on her lips, dangerous.

Impa swings her blade to get his attention; it clangs loudly against the sword the Goddess gave him.

“I’ve seen her wield that sword you carry for years.  I’ve watched her swing it so fast it looked like lightening,” Impa tells him.  “I’ve seen her burn demons with her bare hands.  _How_  are you alive?”

“I… I don’t know,” he stammers, shaking his head.  “She doesn’t… maybe she doesn’t want to hurt me?  Maybe-”

“Of course she doesn’t want to hurt you!  You’re her  _Chosen Hero_!” she mocks, rolling her eyes.  “You are to be the one who wields that blade in battle; you will be the one who leads the Hylians to the skies if the time comes for that.  

Impa growls then.  “And yet… you  _kissed-“_ she swings, “your,” she swings again, “ _Goddess_!”

She lunges at him and Link dodges it.  He growls and swings back, pushing her into the clearing with several quick strikes.  “She  _wanted_  me to!” he shouts.  “You tell me you’ve watched her burn demons with her hands but you’re suggesting I should have refused her?  As if I could have anyway!  I… I-“

“You what, Link?  You  _love_  her?” she asks, sounding exasperated.  “Have you thought  _at all_  about what this means?”

Link swallows.  He  _has_  thought about it; he’s thought a lot about it.  He even pointed it out to Hylia the night before: that he is mortal and she is divine.  But  _she_  doesn’t seem to care, so why should he? He knows she has unimaginable tasks she must tend to, and though he fears for her safety, he has no intention of standing in her way.  

After Impa left last night, amid kissing her furiously, Link had practically begged to come with her on her task.  She’d firmly told him no, that it was far too dangerous even for him.  Instead she asked him to stay behind, to rally the soldiers and rouse their courage for when the hordes of monsters reappeared.

“Do this for me, sir Link,” she’d said.  “You can serve me best by serving your soldiers right now.”  

“I am your Knight, Hylia. If this is your command, I will heed it,” he had replied.  “I will fight for you always, whenever you need me, no matter the danger.  I swear this to you because I love this land, and I love its people…”  

She had nodded, waiting, her eyes wide and curious and her fingers tight in his hair.  “And because I love you.”

“ _Thank you_ , Link,” she whispered, her voice sincere and emphatic. Then she had pulled his mouth back to hers and pushed his hands against her.  She’d whispered in his hear that his hands felt good, that she loved him, that she wanted-

“ _Ahhh_!” Link yelps loudly, abruptly yanked from his thoughts. Impa has swung her blade, striking him with perfect accuracy in the patch of skin where his bracer ended and his chainmail had yet to begin.  “What the  _Hell_ , Impa?” he snarls, clutching the wound. He pulls his hand away and it’s streaked with blood.

Impa freezes, looking alarmed.  Link sheathes his sword and presses his hand over the gash.  “I know you don’t approve of-“

“Link, you don’t know her like I do,” she frowns, looking guilty.  “She can be fleeting and impulsive.  She doesn’t always think of the consequences, and there could be  _very dire_ -“

“You think I don’t realize that?” he asks, offended. “I know she has things she must do, and I have no intention of getting in the way of-“

“It’s not  _just_  that,” Impa interrupts, shaking her head. “You are  _mortal_ , Link.  You will age and weaken, and she will stay the same. The pain of it…” she trails off before rallying herself. “Save nothing for what you want after-“

“-I don’t want anything else,” he mutters.

Impa purses her lips. She sheathes her own sword and looks at him.  “ _Nothing_?” she asks.  “You want nothing more out of life than what you have now?”

“After four years in the dark, all I want is to feel free,” he mumbles. “She makes me feel freer and more alive than I ever have, and I will trade that for whatever suffering may come my way.”

Impa frowns.  “Have you  _really_  thought-“

“I  _have_ ,” he insists.  “I’ve thought about it from the moment she gave me the sword, because from that moment on, my destiny was set.”

“If you told her that, she would tell you could walk away or-“

“And let this world come to ruin?  Let my people and my country  _die_? Let her…” he trails off… can a Goddess die?  Link exhales sharply.  “That is  _not_  a choice.  I am a Knight of Hylia... sworn to both this country and my Goddess, just like you are.”

Impa frowns.  “She could order you to do something terrible… something you know isn’t right,” Impa murmurs.  “And you’d do it because-“

“I’ve refused orders before,” he snaps.  “You know this. You think me so weak that I’d forget my morality if-”

“-I don’t think you are weak.  I think you fool in love, and fools in love do foolish things,” she says.

“Then it’s her you do not trust,” accuses Link.  “You think she’ll try to use me for-“

“No… that’s not it either,” Impa replies, shaking her head.  “I’m only thinking of the consequences.  I love her too, Link.  Not in the same way, but I do.  I think she is good and pure and powerful beyond belief. I trust her.

“But I also love you,” she says.  “You are my friend, and I fear… there are often consequences beyond our imaging. The road to Hell is paved with souls who do not think of the consequences… and I don’t want to see either of you walk down it because it would be to the world’s peril if you did.”

Link sighs.  “I cannot imagine she would have me do anything that would harm anyone in this land.  She loves it too, you know.”

“I know.”

“She has not… asked  _anything_  of me,” he says, a little chagrined. “She… it’s as if she just likes to have me near, and I won’t deny her that because I feel the same way.  She didn’t let me go with her if that’s of any consolation,” Link offers. “I practically begged… I almost argued with her, but she told me no.”

“As well she should have,” Impa says firmly.  “I know what she is doing, and it is beyond your abilities.  She did well to tell you to stay behind.”

Link purses his lips, removing his hand from the cut to examine how badly it’s bleeding.  Impa walks to his side, pushing his hand away to get a better look.  She places her hand over the wound and presses hard.  “How  _long_  have you loved her?”

“Since we took back Eldin,” he replies quietly.  “Since she found me stitching myself up by the edge of that temple.  Everyone had left the field; Machin had taken all the injured away and was tending to them.  She found me and… just stayed with me until I was ready to go.  She didn’t heal me until we were back at camp; she came  _back_  for me and just… _waited_.”

Impa smiles gently. Link continues.  “I didn’t know I loved her right away. It’s been a while since I felt anything but… betrayal or battle rage,” he admits a little ruefully.

“It’s easy to forget the feeling.  She’s forgotten it too, before.”

“Have there been others?”

“Not for a long time,” Impa says, shaking her head.  “And not… human… per say.  You are unique among men, Link.”

“How could she forget what love-?”

“You of all people should know that many curse the Gods just as much as they praise them.  You can’t tell me you didn’t curse her name once or twice while you were in that dungeon.”

Link shakes his head. “I didn’t curse her,” he says.  “I cursed man.  A  _man_  put me in a dungeon, not her.”

Impa considers him for a moment, then releases his arm.  Most of the bleeding has stopped and Link flexes his arm, wincing.  He looks out over his camp; the men are packing up now. Tents are coming down and he can hear chatter and laughter as they talk of being home at last.  Link feels a strange stab of bitterness and swallows it down.  He can feel Impa watching him.  “It does not matter now,” he says a moment later.

Impa nods, crossing her arms over her chest.  “She does love you.”

“She said so.  But didn’t  _you_  just say she is fleeting?” he asks a little warily.  

“She is fleeting with her  _attention_ , not her  _affection_. Human emotions are much more intense for her than they are for us.  That’s why she’s so childlike, and why I feel like a parent at times,” Impa laughs.  “But she loves you, Link; perhaps to her own peril, or yours… she loves you.”

Link nods, smiling to himself.  A moment later Impa laughs.  “What’s funny?”

“I should warn you,” she continues, biting back amusement, “You are probably in her thoughts much more than you realize, in many more…  _ways_  than you realize,” she snickers.  “I would be on your guard for her curiosity, or her exuberance… though that may be rubbing off on you by the way you  _hugged_  me yesterday.”

Link smiles.  “That would not be such a bad thing.”

“No, it wouldn’t.  But I would still be on your guard. She is a playful thing.”  Impa sighs and looks at Link’s arm.  “Come, I will help you stitch that up.”

“As well you should since you  _did_  it,” he growls, though he’s smirking as he does it.  

“You were daydreaming; it is not entirely my fault,” Impa replies haughtily.  

They walk in silence until they reach Impa’s tent.  She sits him down on a stool and kneels beside him, gauze and stitch in her hand. Before she begins, she gives him a look.

“For what it’s worth, I would also come back for you if you stayed on the field.”

Link laughs once and smiles. “I would for you as well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hylia is a little giddy, Link has confessions, and Impa has lots of feelings


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW warning for the end.

Meadowloft sits on a section of rolling hills between the Fortress of Dagianis and the Temple of Hylia.  Faron woods lies to the West, Lake Floria to the South, the Eldin foothills to the North.  There’s a pond behind a cluster of houses where children fish and swim.  A bazaar runs every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday from sunrise to sunset.  Most of the permanent shops and homes are built into the hillsides, but there are a few that sit above ground.

These houses get hit first when the attack comes.

“ _Where is she_?”

Link keeps looking for the source of the voice, but he can’t find it in the chaos. Every sound is muffled by the rush of blood in his ears.  Soldiers are bellowing battle cries.  Villagers are screaming as they flee towards the castle keep.  Monsters are roaring around him.  The air smells of sweat and the acrid scent of smoke.  Hylia’s blade is hot in Link’s hand as it finds its way through monster viscera again and again.

“ _WHERE IS SHE_?”

His shield shatters, hit by the hooked blade of a bokoblin.  Pain shoots from his wrist to his shoulder, but Link chokes it back and takes the monster’s head off in a single swing.  Four of them rush him.  Link feels the blade shudder in his hands.  He pivots in wide circle, felling the monsters in one swipe.  There’s a figure in black and white armor walking towards a lizard fighting one of his soldiers.  The figure throws lizard creature through the air before grabbing the soldier by the throat.  He lifts him three feet off the ground.

“Where is your _White Goddess_?” the man asks.  Link _thinks_ it’s a man.  It looks and sounds like a man, but there is something… _inhuman_ about it.   

“Where is Hylia? Won’t she come _save_ her beautiful forest?  Won’t she protect her _precious_ humans?  _WHERE IS SHE_?”

The man screams, snaps the soldier’s neck with one hand, and throws him fifty-feet through the air into the fire.  Link rushes him, enraged, the blade flashing in the sun.  The man looks at him and laughs. 

An explosion rips the ground apart.  Link is flung through the air, his breath forced from his lungs when he hits the ground.  For a second he stares up at the blue sky and thinks of Hylia’s eyes.  There’s a voice in the back of his head that asks the same question the man has been screaming. 

The flash of steel from a pike brings him back to reality.  Link rolls to the side to avoid it, launches himself into the air, and sinks the blade into the back of the moblin’s neck.  He rushes back into battle and loses track of things.  There is no measurement of time in war – there is only the fight as it unfolds before him.

The sun is still in high in the eastern sky when a horn sounds and the monsters retreat back into the flames.  Link finishes the two bokoblins he’s fighting, and watches soldiers take out the last of the monsters that attacked the village.  He stands, dripping with sweat, and stares after the retreating demons.  Men rush up to him, asking for instructions: Do they follow? Is it over?

Link wipes the blade against his trousers.  “No,” he says, staring at the flames in the distance.  “Let’s… it’s more important that we get back to the village.  Tell Machin and the other healers-“

“They’ve already started,” Rolor tells him.  “The Goddess is with the rest of the people in the temple.”

Link nods.  His legs carry him back to the village.  Parts of it are still on fire.  The armory where Orville made weapons, where Link re-forged the sword, is a smoking shell.  Soldiers are carrying buckets of water, trying to put it out.  There’s a blue house at the farthest edge of that’s smoking.  Link remembers looking out its windows at the forest beyond, watching his dog chase squirrels that hopped through the trees. 

Someone else lives there now. 

Link is vaguely aware that he’s covered in blood and his wrist is broken.  There’s a large tear in his chainmail where a sword hit him.  There’s strangely no pain thanks to the adrenaline fused rage-grief coursing through his veins.  They reach the temple and push open the heavy stone doors.  Rolor walks inside while Link freezes in the doorway.

Hylia is at the back of the temple, playing a slow melody on a golden harp.  She’s glowing _;_ shining like sunlight in the dim stone building.  There are people clustered around her, stretched out asleep on the steps, kneeling beside her in prayer. 

“Sir Link?  Sir Rolor?” a woman asks, noticing them in the temple doorway. “Is… is it over?” 

The room is silent as they wait for an answer.  Link’s voice fails him.  He looks down and wipes his hand over the front of his tunic, as if that will clean it off and make him more presentable.  His stomach twists uncomfortably.

“How many are dead?” another woman asks, rushing up to Link, her hands clasped in front of her.

Rolor side-eyes Link before clearing his throat.  “The monsters _just_ retreated, we haven’t had time to -“

“Over sixty,” Link mumbles, finding his voice.  He didn’t count, the answer just appeared in his head.  “More are injured.  Machin could use help.”

The woman grimaces, squeezes his arms, then flees out the door.  Several people immediately follow her.  The rest slowly get to their feet and exit a few moments later.  As they pass, they touch Link on the shoulder, place a hand on his bicep, take hold of his fingers and squeeze tightly.  Rolor turns and follows the citizens, but Link stays. 

He’s rooted to the spot, lead in his boots holding him there. 

There was no reason for the battle. 

The Demon King _wasn’t even there_. 

He was waiting for Hylia to leave the temple so he could race in and seize the power she guards.  The humans are pawns; disposable and insignificant in a war between Gods. 

Link’s grinds his teeth so hard his jaw aches.  He fights back the urge to scream, swallows it until it sits in his chest like a rock.  Over the roar of thoughts in his head Hylia’s voice comes, distant and… angry. 

 _What have you **done**? _ She snarls, then the tone changes dramatically.  Link feels the shift in his chest.  His heart aches.

_This is my fault… all my fault. I’m so sorry.  What do I do?  Nayru, Farore, Din… How do I make this end?  This is **all my fault**._

He looks up and everything in him shifts.  Hylia is shaking, her arms are crossed over her chest, clutching the harp.  He wants to curl her into his arms, to be a buffer between her and the rage-grief that is all too familiar.  Link takes a few quick, painful steps forward. 

“Stay _back_ , Link,” she commands when he puts a foot on the first step of the dais.  It’s the first command she’s ever given him.  He freezes. 

The glow over her skin becomes brighter; _too_ bright.  It’s almost blinding. Link roots himself to the earth and shields his eyes. 

He feels the air ripple around her, shimmering like heat does in the desert.  She drops the harp; it vanishes into thin air.  Hylia raises her right hand and silvery-white wings unfold from her shoulders.  They spread out four feet on either side of her.  The tips are sharp and coated with gold. 

Energy gathers in her palm; pure, unfiltered sunlight.  Gravity sucks inward.  Link stumbles forward onto the dais.  He watches her draw a series of complex symbols on the door at the back of the temple.  Golden light drips from her fingers like wax. Hylia places her hand against the door and Link feels the ground _move_. 

A down draft floods the temple, energy driving itself from the sky, through Hylia, and into the Earth.   Link hears her intake of breath.  The energy surrounding her lifts her up and she pushes her hand _into_ the door – right through the stone.  There’s a high-pitched chime and a hum of energy. The temple is bathed in sunlight.  Link shuts his eyes against the blinding glare.

By the time it fades, she’s beside him, wingless and humanish again.  Her fingers thread into his hair and Link collapses to his knees, the pains of injury suddenly amplified. 

“ _Hylia_ ,” he gasps, lurching in response to the sudden rush of agony.

“ _Shh_ ,” she breathes, pulling him into her arms.  “I’m here, now… hold still.”

Her hands are like fire when they slide over his shoulders and down his back, melting his skin back together.  She touches him everywhere: chest, biceps, hips… the tops of his thighs, his stomach.  She finds sword marks and burns and wipes them clean.  Her hands don’t stop moving until they reach his face where they rest curled against his jaw, thumbs stroking his cheekbones.

Link breathes slowly.  Hylia sets her forehead against his and he grips her forearms.  They breathe together.  Time slows back to normal. 

Her thoughts are loud in his head again: _My fault my fault my fault_ …

“It’s _not_ ,” Link says, and he means it.  He opens his eyes to look at her beautiful face.  Lines of grief cover her cheeks and regret haunts her eyes. 

She looks away from him.  “It _is_.”

Link opens his mouth to argue, but she shushes him, fingers soft against his lips.  She pulls gently at his lower lip with the pad of her finger before sliding her hand along his jaw again. 

“What caused them to flee?”

Link swallows.  “Someone… called them back.” 

“’Some… _one_?’” She asks, going still.  “A _human_?”

“Not human. It looked like a man, but it… wasn’t.”

“What did it look like?”

“His armor was black, with white marks on his arms and legs,” Link says.  “He had… white eyes, and wore a red cloak, but that was all I could see.”

“What did he say?”

“I didn’t hear a command to retreat,” Link starts, cautious with his words.  “He kept shouting ‘ _where is she_?’ over and over.  He… asked why you wouldn’t come for your ‘precious’ humans.”

Hylia presses her lips together.  There’s this haunted, empty look in her blue eyes.  She stares at him for a moment, then looks away. 

“You should rest,” she murmurs, rising to her feet.  Link takes her hands and she pulls him up.  “You are tired. I can feel it in your bones.”

Link shakes his head.  “I can rest later.  There is… too much to do right now,” he says, thinking of soldiers who need identified and families who need to see his face.

Hylia still won’t look at him.  Link dips his head to try and catch her gaze.  The rage in him has all but subsided; there’s nothing left but grief and concern.  He puts a hand on her shoulder but pulls back, surprised.  She feels… cold.   

Hylia shrugs away from him.  She and Link notice the stains on her dress at the same time.  A little alarmed, she drags her hands down her front, smearing his blood across the white fabric.  Dread sinks into Link’s stomach, cold as ice.  He stares at the contrasting colors and feels a horrible sense of foreboding. The image of her covered in his blood burns itself unwillingly into his memory. 

“Hylia,” he says, voice shaking, “this was not your fault.” 

“Maybe not _this_ ,” she mumbles, looking at her bloodstained palms before turning them outwards so he can see. “But… my hands aren’t clean.”

Link frowns; she doesn’t see.  She’s staring at her palms.  He reaches for her again and Hylia flinches.  She gives him a pained look.  “I’m so sorry, Link… I’m _so…_ _sorry_ ,” is all she manages before she flees out the door. 

Link’s heart goes with her though his body stays rooted to the floor.  The light from the glowing doors calls his attention.  Drawn to it, he walks onto the dais and places his hand against the stone, not sure of what to expect.  The stone is coated in an amber-colored shell and feels like a cast iron pan left in the fire too long.  Behind these sealed doors is a… gift… from the three Golden Goddesses. 

Link wonders what kind of a “ _gift_ ” they left that could be both wonderous to behold yet also cause so much horror.

* * *

 

Morning turns to afternoon, then finally to evening.  The villagers gather to identify bodies and begin clearing out debris.  Link walks among them, stopping to let people cry into his shoulder, or just look stoically at him before they walk away. 

Luron, Link’s second in command, is one of the deceased.   He makes a special trip to see his wife and offer condolences. When he gets there, the words fail him; Sorry isn’t good enough.  He could tell her over and over how brave Luron was, but she already knows that. 

When he can’t find anything worthwhile to stay, he just stands quietly before her.  She stares at him for a moment, then slaps him across the face.  The next second she’s apologizing and sobbing into his chest.  Before Link can react to all of this, Hylia appears and sweeps her into a hug, whispering quiet words and guiding her away.

It's the only time he sees her that day, and she says nothing to him.

Link knows he shouldn’t feel hurt by this.  There is no place for selfish longing when there is so much horror and grief around him.  He tries to swallow it down, but his chest aches and he spends the day looking around, hoping to catch just a glimpse of her… 

The village elders ask him what to do.  People ask where they should go.  He is the Knight of Hylia, the Captain of their armies, the most honorable hero in all the land.  Surely, he has the answers.

“For now,” he says, addressing a large crowd gathered in the square, “we should move everyone into the castle.  There are plenty of rooms in the keep and there’s space in barracks-”

“If our homes are undamaged, can we stay in them?” someone asks.  A murmur of approval ripples through the crowd.

Link nods.  “Of course.  Open them to others if you can.  But be prepared to escape to the castle if the alarm sounds.  Keep essentials ready to go, have a plan.  We can only fortify the city so much.  The castle gates can close and the… the walls can keep us safe.” 

The villagers murmur in agreement.  Some opt to come in to the barracks, but most choose to stay with family, friends, or kind neighbors.  People are reluctant to leave their homes.  Link understands that feeling even though, technically, he doesn’t have a home.

Impa suggests he move into one of the main rooms of the castle, perhaps the master bedroom.  He is Captain, after all.  Link gives her a _look_ , and she drops it. 

By the time the sun sets, most of the debris has been cleared away and people return to their homes.  There are fires glowing in the windows of houses and a group of people have gathered in the castle courtyard to share a meal.  He’s surrounded by people, but Link tastes the familiar, bitter tang of loneliness on his tongue.

Link retreats to his tent to eat supper, alone.  He cleans the blood from his armor and sword, alone.  He lies down on his cot, alone, and stares at the ceiling. He closes his eyes, has a nightmare, and wakes up.

Link has never slept well, but this happens more often since his imprisonment.  His hair is sweaty and his body stiff.  He shudders, trying to push nightmarish images out of his head: Hylia with her gold-tipped wings, glowing with sunlight and dripping with blood, the Demon King in front of her, smiling… blood dripping from a black sword.  Link’s off to the side, the sacred blade in his hands.  He’s helpless…  Disposable and insignificant in a fight between Gods. 

There’s no point in staying in his tent when he can’t sleep. 

Link pulls on a tunic, wraps his cloak around his shoulders, and grabs the blade for reasons he can’t quite specify.  He sticks to greener areas, avoiding blackened trees and dead grass as he walks.  The spread pattern of burnt trees is odd – like someone came along and put out the fire all at once.  Link knows there are small forest and water creatures in this land; perhaps they tried to save their home just as he tried to save his.

There’s this… angry-bitter part of his brain.  It’s the part he pushed aside when people asked him to fight again, choosing to seek peace for himself and his country rather than let it fall to ruin because he wanted revenge.  Usually it sleeps, but its awake and wild tonight, keeping a running undercurrent of rage in his blood. This happens after a battle, when every noise and sensation is amplified by adrenaline.  Link doesn’t want to be angry, but he is.  The muscles in his arms are tight, and blood rushes loud through his ears. 

He stops on the bridge that stretches across the valley between the highest hill in Faron Woods and Lake Floria.  The mark of Goddess Farore is carved into the stone doors and Link feels an uncontrollable urge to strike it with the sword.  He swallows it down and buries the blade halfway into a tree instead.

The metal sticks.  Link pulls and pulls but the sword is stuck deep in the wood. The undercurrent of rage finds its outlet.

Link lashes out, slamming his fists into the tree, growling and screaming until he’s hoarse.  Birds scatter into the air, but the leaves of the trees sway only slightly, as though his fury is nothing when compared to their centuries long watch over the forest.  Link continues slamming his fists into the tree until his muscle ache. 

Fists aren’t enough, he needs something more… destructive.  He grabs the hilt of the blade with bloody hands, puts his foot on the tree trunk, and roars until the tree creaks and the blade finally gives way.  Link flops onto his back with the sword in his hand.  He stares up at the stars for half a second before launching himself back to his feet, hacking and slicing through everything around him, snarling obscenities under his breath.

He doesn’t know how long he’s frantically swinging, only that when he’s done his throat is raw and sweat burns his eyes.  He lets out one final cry of rage then the forest falls silent… until someone else picks it up.

He’s not alone.  There’s someone below him, by the lake.  Link listens as they scream out in rage before breaking off into a cry of pain.  Link recognizes the voice, though he’s never heard her make that sound before.

He sheathes the sword on his back and runs down the stone steps to the lake.

Link reaches the bottom of the steps and he sees Hylia standing at the water’s edge.  She’s not glowing, but energy shimmers in the air around her.  She takes a shaky breath and falls to her knees, fists clenched, head thrown back the sky as she screams at the heavens. The lake water ripples, the trees bend, the ground shakes.  Link feels gravity shift around him like it did in the temple and braces himself for inevitable pull.    

Hylia slams her fists into the ground.  Energy _explodes_ out of her, driving through the water and sending it crashing onto the shores in giant waves.  Link is thrown a few steps back.  The trees around him shake, a few are ripped up by the roots.  He covers himself, dodging branches and leaves that fall around him.

When he comes up, Hylia slumped over, blonde hair curled around her face, the sleeves of her white dress resting in the dirt.  He can hear her breathing deeply, trying to calm herself.  Link approaches her like you’d approach a wild animal, hands extended with palms out in passivity. 

She turns over her shoulder to look at him.  Her face is wet with tears.  They stare at each other for a moment until Link lowers arms and moves closer.  He ventures a hand on her shoulder and feels her go slack under his touch. 

She inhales slowly and turns away from him.  Her eyes are fixated on the lake.  “I made this,” she murmurs.

Link swallows, taking a knee beside her.  “You made it?”

“Well… not technically.  Din carved the earth, but… originally this was just three rivers that flowed down the hill, here, and converged into larger one that flows towards the sea,” she explains, gesturing to the waterfalls.  “I decided there should be a lake because… _I_ like to swim.  So, I cut the land and made a lake.  The waterfalls were an accident, I didn’t really think it through.”

She smiles a little and chews her lip.  “Din called me impetuous; she said I was showing off and told me not to mess with the construction of _her_ world _ever_ again… as though _she’s_ the one here,” she mumbles.  “Nayru and Farore had to talk her down, she wanted to come down and take this from me,” she adds, touching the string of jewels around her head. 

Link gazes out at the lake, following her gaze.  “ _Were_ you showing off?” he wonders, watching the water as it ripples in the breeze.

“I… was,” she admits, sounding sheepish.  “I was… angry.  I wanted to see what I could do if I let myself go, so I let myself go.”

Hylia looks down at her shaky hands.  “Why were you angry?” Link asks.

She curls her fingers into her palms.  “Because… they left me,” she blurts out.  “They plucked me from the sunlight, gave me wisdom, and power, and life… then we traveled from place to _place_ until they descended down and made this world and then they just… _left_ me.” 

Hylia chews her lip, still clenching her fists. “They said, ‘Hylia _,_ don’t touch anything.  Don’t eat the food, don’t play with the creatures, don’t sleep in the forest…  Don’t interfere – you are a Goddess.  Guard this world but _never_ interact with it.  Love these creatures, answer their prayers, but don’t love them _too_ much.’”

She shakes her head and looks furious again.  Link feels an urge to back away, but he roots himself to the ground.  She continues. 

“I can carve through the land with my bare hands, I move water and wind, I can wield a sword just as well as you can,” she says with a laugh. “I can heal your wounds and keep your heart beating.  I can pull down the sun and use it to seal the sacred realm, but I can’t… I _can’t_ …I couldn’t bear to be alone and now _look_ what I’ve done…”

She’s shaking, fingers dug into painfully into her palms.  Link moves behind her and loops his arms all the way around her shoulders, pulling her against his chest.  He presses his face into her neck, noting that she’s still cold.  Hylia relaxes into him and grips his forearms like he’s the only thing keeping her grounded. 

“You didn’t do this, Hylia,” he whispers after a few moments.  “You aren’t the one waging this war, Demise is.  This is-“

“It’s my fault,” she says, shaking his head.  “If I wasn’t here… if I hadn’t… _interfered_ ,” she mumbles before a sob overtakes her.  “If I had just… _listened_ to them… none of this would have happened.  I was just… so… _lonely_ here.”

She buries her face into his elbow and sobs.  Link can do nothing but hold her. He knows all too well what she’s feeling.  It’s not the same situation, but he too knows what it’s like to be abandoned by those who were supposed to care for him.

After a few moments, Link takes off his cloak and spreads it over Hylia’s shoulders.  He’s tucking it together at the front of her chest when she catches his hands in hers, expression haunted and a little fretful.

“Are you angry with me?”

Link pauses.  “ _What_?”

Hylia swallows.  “Link… you, of all people, have _plenty_ of reason to be angry at the Gods, myself included,” she murmurs darkly.  “People have cursed me over far less than being betrayed and imprisoned then dragged back into the fight when you thought you could rest.” 

She swallows.  “I know you’ve wondered _why_ I haven’t ended this, why I can’t… just… _pull down the sun_ and burn away the evil.  I can’t hear your thoughts, Link… but I can _feel_ your pain and everything that goes with it.  I see the… _rage_ on your hands,” she says, gesturing to his bloody knuckles.  “Are you angry with me?”

Link looks at her, at how the moonlight catches in her hair and shine off the jewels she wears.  He looks at her eyes, the shine of tears on her cheekbones, the slump in her shoulders contrasted with the hopeful clench of her fingers around his.  He remembers that the only reason he can notice any of these things is because she’s _here_ , in front of him, asking if he – a mortal man – is angry at her.

“No,” he says, taking her face in his hands.  He leans forwards and presses his lips against her cool forehead.  “I’m _angry_ … but it’s not with you, Hylia.”

She swallows.  “ _Why_?” she asks incredulously.  “Everyone else… even as they let me comfort them and thanked me for keeping them safe… they _cursed_ me.  They-“

“I don’t _want_ to be angry with you,” he says.  “I could be.  I could be angry at the entire village for not listening to me and letting me sit in that dungeon for four years after I’d done so much for them.  But I don’t _want_ to be.  Where would all that anger get me?  I’m lonely enough as it is.”

Hylia relaxes a bit, a little relieved though she still looks pained.  She puts a hand on his cheek, and looks at him, eyes soft and a little awed.  Link’s ears feel hot and he shakes his head. 

“I’m not a saint,” he reminds her, pointedly showing her his knuckles.  “I’m not going to tell you I haven’t sat in my tent full of bitterness or… punched a tree out of rage.  And I won’t say I’m not angry at the Gods… but I’m _not_ angry with _you_.”

Hylia considers this.  She looks a sheepish but nods.  She takes his hands in hers, pressing her lips against his knuckles.  Light washes over them, just on the edge of warm.  When it fades his knuckles are smooth and injury free again.  She takes his hands and places them against her face.  “Thank you, Link.”

“For what?” he asks with a small laugh, smoothing a path over her cheekbone.

“For… being what you are.  I could search for an _age_ and never find a soul like yours, Link.  Maybe… maybe I _have_ searched for an age just to find you.”

Link shakes his head.  “I’m just a man.”

“You are a man with an _unbreakable_ spirit,” she breathes, leaning her forehead against hers. 

Link kisses her forehead before pulling her into his arms.  She buries her face in his neck and he shivers.  “You’re cold.”

“Pardon?”

“Your skin, it’s cold.  I’ve never felt your skin cold before.  It’s been cold since… this morning.”

“Oh,” Hylia says, pulling back slightly.  “It’s nothing.  I’m tired.  I’ve expended a lot of energy today… too much probably.  I need to rest.”

Link gets to his feet and holds out his hand.  She takes it and pulls herself up, still holding his cloak around he shoulders.  “Is that why you gave me this?  Because I feel cold?”

Link nods, keeping hold of her hand as they start to walk back towards the village together.  She smiles and holds it close.  “I may just keep it,” she says after they cross the bridge.  “If it ever goes missing, you would be smart to look for me.”

Link swallows.  “Are you planning on coming up missing anytime soon?”

Hylia turns to him, eyes soft.  She loops her arm through his and lays her head against his shoulder.  “No, I am not.  I am not planning on being anywhere other than by your side for the foreseeable future.  Even if must leave for a day, I _will_ return to you, my Hero.”

She takes his hand in hers and kisses it and Link smiles.  They walk in silence until they reach the edge of the forest.  There’s light in Link’s tent from an oil lamp he left running.  Link has just walked into the lamplight when he turns to Hylia.

“Will you-“

“May I stay with you tonight?”

“-stay with me?”

They finish talking over each other.  Link breathes out a laugh and Hylia grins.  She keeps hold of his hand and follows him into his tent, pulling the curtain shut behind her.

Link sits down on the cot and pulls off his boots and socks.  She sits down next to him and watches him rake through his hair with his fingers before pulling it back into a pony tail at the base of his neck.  Then he looks to her, curious about her expression.

She gestures to his clothing.  “Do you always sleep so… dressed?”

Link swallows.  “Not… usually.  I take my tunic off at the very least.”

“Oh,” she muses.  “Well, you can if it makes you comfortable.  I don’t mind.”

Link presses his lips together, thinking of the numerous scars along his back, chest, and torso… the shackle marks on his wrists.  Scars she’s never seen.  “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I am not uncomfortable, Link.”  She smirks at him.  “It’s not as though I haven’t imagined what you look like under your armor before.”

Link looks sharply at her, he knows his cheeks are red.  He swallows.  “What… do _you_ usually sleep in?”

“Nothing,” she says unabashed.  “But I can sleep in this since it will make you rest easier.”

Link nods, knowing that sleep would be the _last_ thing on his mind if there was a naked Hylia next to him.  If he wasn’t so exhausted, the fact that she was sleeping next to him would be enough to make his thoughts go a little crazy. 

But as it stood, he was tired, and so was she.  Link calms his thoughts by stroking her hair as she lays against his chest.  Her breathing is steady, rising and falling with the rhythm of his chest.  She curls one leg around his and wraps her arms around his waist.  He doesn’t know who falls asleep first, but this is the first night since he got out of prison that some random nightmare doesn’t wake him up. 

* * *

 

Hylia takes up a semi-permanent residence in Link’s tent.  Everyone knows it: the soldiers, the villagers, the Shiekah… he gets a few interesting comments.

“I thought, as her Chosen Hero, she gave _you_ a sword,” Rolor mused when Hylia walked out of his tent one morning.  “I didn’t realize it would end up being the other way around…”

Link rolled his eyes and walked away, though he swore he could feel Hylia’s smirk from across the square.

Though there’s random bits of chaos happening – an attack by a single monster, attempts to infiltrate the barricades, raids of supplies and terrorizing of the forest creatures – Link has never been happier in his life.  Every morning he wakes up to the smell of her hair and the feel of her in his arms.  She always wakes up first and lies content next to him, staring at him with eyes soft and tracing his features with her fingers.  He would have thought after several weeks they’d become familiar to her, but she never seems to tire of it.

“Tell me a story,” she asks.

“I have a scar on the left side of my scalp because I was hit by the blunt side of an axe when I was nine-years-old.”

“Spirits save me!  _Link_!” she bleats.  “That’s horrible.  Tell me different one.”

“I broke my ankle when I was fifteen because I jumped off the waterfall at Lake Floria,” he says, smirking when she gasps in horror.  “I misjudged and jumped into the shallow part.”

“ _LINK_!” she protests.  “Stop that. Tell me a happy story.”

“This one time, a large red bird flew out of the sky, and on his back was this _beautiful_ woman with eyes like the sky and hair-“

“ _Stop it_ ,” she blushes, looking a little shy. 

“-like the sun.  She said something about needing a Hero and _of course_ I stepped up to-“

“You’re terrible,” Hylia laughs before kissing him.  “You really are.”

“I’m terribly in love with you,” he breathes, pulling her close and kissing her nose.

Hylia doesn’t say anything for a moment.  She just looks at him and blushes as red as his scarf.  She traces her hand over a scar on his collarbones, just under his tunic.  “Tell me another story.”

Link thinks for a moment.  “I was knighted when I was sixteen years old.”

“Sixteen,” Hylia repeats, looking at him with concern.  “That’s… so very young.”

Link shrugs.  “My parents were gone already gone, but I wanted to do something… _more_.  I wanted to fight against the evil that took them.”

“Who knighted you?”

“His name was Cogan, he was the ranking Lord at the time.  After he died, Daiganis took over control of the armies.  He was the one who raised me to Captain after I led the charge into Skyview Temple and took it back.”

Hylia pursed her lips.  “I heard that story from Impa.  She said you walked into the temple with nothing but a sword.  No armor, no shield… the men were hesitant to follow you because the monsters were so many.  She said she’d never seen someone so recklessly brave.”

Link shrugs and smiles a little.  “That’s _our_ temple; I wanted them out.”

“Rightly so,” Hylia agrees.  She gives him a _look_ then.  “You know, you and Impa are not _nearly_ as sneaky as you think you are.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, sounding a little _too_ unconcerned.

“I know you’ve been sparring with each other for _months_ , and that you’re both rough about it.  Don’t think I don’t know about the bruises she has and that she secretly heals your wounds when she manages to land them.  I must say… I’m a little jealous.”

“ _Jealous_?” Link laughs.

“I think that’s the word.  _I’m_ the one who wants to heal you,” she murmurs.  “And you’d never spar with _me_ like that.”

“Wha- Well…” Link sputters.  “I mean… I could, I guess.  But… I-“

“Are you afraid I’d hurt you?”

“No…”

“Are you afraid you’d hurt me?” she smirks.

“No.”

“Then why not?”

“It just… feels wrong,” he says.  “Please don’t think that I doubt you a warrior, Hylia, or that I don’t think you’re strong. But… I _love_ you.  It feels wrong to swing a blade at you with any intention.”

She considers this, then frowns.  “Well, when you put it like that…”

“That’s how it is.”

“ _Hmm_ …” she murmurs, leaning down and kissing his collarbones.  Link feels a shiver run through him, but he leans back a little and looks at her. “Well, I know you were thinking about sneaking off to find her since you’re restless but I’m going to ask you not to because the two of you worry me.” 

“I thought you couldn’t read my thoughts.”

“I can’t… well, I should be more specific,” she explains.  “You must remember, this is not my first language, and I don’t always explain things well.  I cannot hear your thoughts when you are just… walking around the world.  But, I’m so close to you that I feel the… _tenor_ … of your thoughts.  Sometimes that’s enough.  I can only hear exact translations of thoughts when someone is talking _to_ me, and people talk to me much more often than they realize.”

“How do you mean?”

“I hear smatterings of ‘ _Hylia, save me’_ and ‘ _Hylia, help me’_ that are just casual sentences and not cries for help.  Sometimes, people pray when they don’t intend to, when they’re just… processing a thought or experiencing something.”

She smirks.  “ _Sometimes_ people call out to me when they _absolutely_ do not want me around.” 

Link tips his head, and she grins almost wickedly.  “My knowledge of human relations doesn’t just come from biology… I get inadvertent glimpses into the act at times.”

Link blinks a few times then breathes out a laugh.  Eventually it turns audible and he puts a hand over his eyes.  “I can imagine that’s awkward.”

She shrugs.  “It’s not. It’s very similar to what goes through _your_ head when you first wake up and you pull me against you,” she breathes into his neck.

Link freezes and swallows, closing his eyes when he feels her lips on his jaw.  “You just told me-“

“I told you I can hear the _tenor_ of your thoughts, and that I can hear when people are talking _to_ me,” she breathes in his ear.  “I try not to listen, Link… I really do.  But it’s very hard when you hold me so close and tell me how soft I am, and how badly you want to-“

Link cuts her off, catching the words against his tongue.  His hand is tight on her hip as she rolls back into the cot, pulling him on top of her.  Link feels himself shaking, fingers vibrating as they slide up her ribcage to the front of her dress. 

Hylia moans quietly, steady and insistent in her kisses, pulling him in.  One hand tight in his hair and the other clutching his tunic.  Link ducks his head and kisses under her jaw, down along her throat, and over her collarbones.  He pulls at her white dress with his teeth, knowing when she shrugs it off there will be nothing underneath it. Her breath catches in her throat when Link kisses along the swell of her breast.   

She wraps her leg around his hip and Link’s hand slides along her thigh.  Her skirt bunches up against his wrist and he freezes, hesitating… shaking like a teenage boy instead of a man who’s been down this path before. Hylia threads her fingers into his hair and tugs, drawing his mouth back to hers with a quiet moan.  Link pulls back, feeling dizzy and hot. 

“Don’t stop,” she pleads, locking her eyes with his. “This is the part where you _always_ stop. I don’t want you to stop, Link.”

He swallows, closing his eyes when she rakes her fingers through his hair.  When he opens them, she’s chewing her lip, waiting for him… _wanting_ him.

Link catches her lips with his and inhales.  He feels her arch into him.  She gasps quietly when his hand brushes her hip bone then the inside of her thighs.  He moans against her throat and slips his fingers between her legs.  She’s warm, and slick; his fingers slide easily in.  Hylia arches and he kisses along he collarbones, listening to her breathing: quiet, shaky, and a little surprised.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his tongue circling one of her nipples.  She nods emphatically, her lip caught between her teeth. Link kisses lower along, under her ribcage, along her belly.  He pushes her skirt up a little higher, fingers moving slowly.  His thumb circles her clit, then he replaces it with his tongue.

“Li-ii…” she starts to say, her voice breaking as the vowel in his name turns to a quiet moan.  He lowers himself onto the cot, spreading his tongue out against her, moving slowly with her breaths.  Link feels the fingers of one hand tight in his hair, her other hand franticly clutching his forearm.  He finds her wrist and holds it still for a moment before threading his fingers through hers.  She squeezes them painfully tight. 

There’s a knot in Link’s stomach that aches, and the longer he laps at her the tighter it becomes.  He wants her so badly his blood is lightning in his veins, but he’s so content where he is… listening to her breathing his name in time with his tongue.  She says it like a prayer. 

Link feels her orgasm in the grip of his hair, in the way her hips arch and rock with his movements.  He slows his movements, pushing fingers in deeper, circling her slowly with his tongue.  Hylia moans and arches, clenching around him and Link can think about nothing except what it would feel to be part of her for a few blissful moments.  

He kisses the inside of her thigh and her lower belly before crawling out from under her skirt.  Link slides over her, one knee between her thighs and a hand braced above her shoulder, watching her come back to reality.  Her skin is flushed pink over her neck and chest.  He kisses her breast again. She’s breathless.  Her fingers thread into his hair and she pulls his mouth against hers.  Hylia kisses him, slow and languid, and Link rests his weight against her.  She giggles into the kiss and Link smiles.

“What’s funny?”

Hylia giggles again, then laughs and covers her eyes.  Her face is warm and bright.  “I understand why everyone starts praying now,” she replies with a laugh.  Link smiles and kisses her, thinking he’ll have to find something else to call out if he’s ever lucky enough to be inside her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and I ... we had our arguments. But we finally got them settled. Reviews and comments are appreciated as it gives me things to mull over going forward. And thank you for taking the time to read - I hope people are getting some enjoyment out of it as I'm getting a lot from writing it.


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